


Don't

by FluffyHeretic



Category: Hatoful Kareshi | Hatoful Boyfriend
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Off-screen Domestic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 01:45:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12378309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffyHeretic/pseuds/FluffyHeretic
Summary: Ichijou Utsuro makes his first promise.





	Don't

It’s happening again.

He’s learned the warning signs, at least. At one point the delicate sipping of alcohol becomes a little too depraved, looks are a little too harsh, words a little too biting. He can feel it hanging in the air like a miasma.

Then he’s curled up, holding himself in a corner somewhere, anywhere he could find to try to feel safe. The house is big but it seems he can hear them no matter where he goes, so loudly he thinks the world might end. The shouted words that turn into screams of rage and then glass breaking, maids shrieking in terror as they try to intervene.

Utsuro just hopes they won’t try to take it out on him.

Even long after the noises stop, usually punctuated either by the slam of a door or tires squealing out the driveway, he doesn’t dare move. Just because the conflict has ended doesn’t mean neither of them is still looking to take their anger out on something, and Utsuro knows too well that he is as good a target as any.

So he flinches when hears his mother call his name, as sweet-sounding as it is. Even as he hates her, her voice is a siren call, drawing him near. She terrifies him, and yet he yearns for her. A part of him wants to go running to her, to pull at her pretty dress until she holds him gently in her arms. His fear stops him.

He hears it again, still sickly sweet. He doesn’t want to go, but he knows what happens when he disobeys. He follows the sound on trembling legs.

When he finds his mother, she’s sitting on the couch in the parlor, taking long drags off her cigarette. She only looks at him when he hesitantly climbs onto the other end of the couch.

He doesn’t want to look right at her, but he can’t help but peek at her expression. She doesn’t seem angry, at least, but far from soft and nurturing. More… detached. As if she’s considering something.

She pets the spot on the couch next to her. “Come here, Utsuro.”

He obeys, shuffling closer until they’re inches apart.

“Look at me, Utsuro. Don’t be rude.”

He obeys, looking up into her face. She stares down at him, expression unchanging. Utsuro wonders what she’s looking at.

Her brows knit for a split second, and she lifts a hand to his face, cradling his cheek. Her touch burns, but he leans into it anyway. She wipes an errant tear away with her thumb but does nothing else.

He can’t stop the words from coming out of his mouth. “Why do you and father fight? Aren’t you supposed to love each other?”

She says nothing.

Utsuro can’t look anymore. He glances away. Mother lowers her hand. “Love is a trick, Utsuro. A lie. A waste of time.” She looks away too.

“Utsuro, you know what a promise is, don’t you?” She takes another drag of her cigarette.

“It’s… It’s when you agree to do something, and you absolutely have to do it, no matter what. Because you said that you would.”

She nods slowly, thoughtfully. “Good. Can you promise me something, then? It’s very important.”

“Yes?”

She lifts her hand again, and this time runs it through his hair. “Promise me that you won’t ever love anyone, Utsuro.”

Their eyes meet again, and her deadly serious look bores into his soul like a worm. She speaks as if it’s the most important thing she’ll ever say. Maybe it is.

“Love will only hurt you.”

“I promise.”

Perhaps it’s just what he deserves, then.

Children who don’t listen to their parents are punished, after all.

One way or another.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the bad feels, y'all. Once I had this idea I couldn't shake it, so I pumped out a few words and figured it might as well go here. I've been thinking about the Ichijous a lot lately - there's just so little we know (aside from the fact that they were terrible) that my mind has started to run with headcanons and now I'm somehow invested. Maybe I'll write more about them someday, but preferably after a more lighthearted break. Comments are very much appreciated.


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